


All Work No Play

by QuickSilverFox3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Sign Language, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: “Pay attention.”Kingsley felt warmth spread down to his toes, a certain looseness that came with the generous application of alcohol to any problem that ailed him. But he still sat up — the sudden ache in the small of his back promising to make him pay for his previous reclined position later — and rested his elbows on the kitchen table, watching Moody intently.
Relationships: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody/Kingsley Shacklebolt





	All Work No Play

“Pay attention.”

Kingsley felt warmth spread down to his toes, a certain looseness that came with the generous application of alcohol to any problem that ailed him. But he still sat up — the sudden ache in the small of his back promising to make him pay for his previous reclined position later — and rested his elbows on the kitchen table, watching Moody intently.

The other man scoffed, unable to keep the sly grin from his face, and took a slow drink from his beer bottle. He held up his other hand and moved through the motions again: his first two fingers were extended and crossed slightly while the rest curled towards his palm, then uncrossing them, and, finally, tucking them down towards his palm. 

Kingsley mimicked the motions, feeling the sting of pain in his fingers from holding the unfamiliar extension. It was clumsier than Moody, the transitions halting and unsure, but he managed passably. 

“Now, what does it mean?”

Kingsley clicked his tongue, carefully repeating the motions once more. Three letters, but the possibility was endless. He knew the information. 

He’d been told it just that morning, mixed in amidst the pile of paperwork that their cases seemed to generate, tugged into a meeting room by his wrist. It wasn’t out of place for Moody to casually redirect Kingsley with a touch: a tap on his shoulder, the light nudge of an elbow to the ribs, and, even more boldly, a hand placed in the small of Kingsley’s back. 

The day had been slow since they first woke up that morning — blanket tangled in their legs and sweat drying along the exposed curves of their spine — as the heat made everything feel sluggish. Moody had even done the dishes with an absent flick of his wand, despite his previous insistences that washing up built character — both in the face of Kingsley’s only half joking complaints, and when Kingsley tried to distract him by nipping at his neck — with a glare in Kingsley’s direction, as if daring him to comment on it.

Time moved slowly, was still moving slowly, hours dragging on for years in the oppressive heat. The higher-ups vanished, as quickly as they were able, into their air conditioned offices and overlooked the half-arsed excuses given as the others slowly filtered out. Kingsley stayed, as he always did, knowing, even without seeing him, that Moody’s magical eye was watching him. The ticking of the clock became oppressive, finally driving Kingsley from his seat, only to be intercepted by Moody and dragged away. The tryst he’d expected was in fact a series of gestures, carefully copied into a notebook — Moody’s handwriting careful and neat, deliberate strokes to outline how the gestures moved. 

Seeing it was a lot different to studying them on a page however, and Kingsley felt a dull bit of frustration at the base of his skull. He pushed past it with a practiced ease and focused back on Moody.

“Okay.” Kingsley sighed, running one hand over his head, the regrowth scratching at his palm. “Show me again?”

Moody chuckled, but, obligingly, ran through the hand gestures once more. 

“So, I can’t tell you the whole word,” Kingsley warned him, knowing Moody would rather know the level of his understanding at the start. Kingsley was a quick study, but not that quick, given that the heat of the day remained constant, the air as slow and muggy as his thoughts. In Moody’s house — a small cottage tucked away on the Scottish coastline — the air was cooler, blessedly so, and Kingsley could think clearer, before they both started drinking.

“This one—” Kingsley held up his first two fingers straight, and the rest curled towards his palm, “is ‘U’ so the word is ‘Run’?”

“Not bad.” Kingsley revelled in the rush of warmth at Moody’s compliment, rewarding himself with another swig of his beer after saluting Moody with the bottle. 

“Why do you want me to learn this?”

He was no longer Moody’s apprentice, a key separation of the two halves of their relationship and a necessary one, but the other man was still senior to him, and they were partners, inside and out of work. The little assignments Moody passed to Kingsley were overlooked by the other senior Aurors — punctuated by fond sighs and exasperated looks if any of them noticed. 

“Think about it. How many times have you been in a stealth situation and the normal codes didn’t work?” Moody’s remaining eye gleamed, the empty socket crinkling as he grinned. “Auror Helman is a clever man, but he lacks flexibility.”

“So, this is?”

“Sign language, lad. American, as the British is two-handed and that doesn’t quite fit our needs for the moment.”

Kingsley carefully moved his fingers through the motions again, mouthing the letters as he did so, trying to imprint the motions through the comfortable fog. It was a matter of repetition, of failing and continuing to try again, and then again, until he had it perfect. Kingsley wouldn’t accept anything less for himself. 

“It’s sort of like learning to read wand movements, isn’t it?” Kingsley asked, knowing he was right by Moody’s sudden stillness — not that the other man would ever admit to having a tell that only Kingsley could read. 

“Explain.”

Kingsley slowly tipped the bottle side to side, watching the few mouthfuls left of liquid move as he organised his thoughts. 

“Take ‘ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ ’.” He traced the shape in the air with his wand, the motion of ‘swish and flick’ drilled into his mind by Professor Flitwick — high pitched voice seeming to reverberate from Kingsley’s memories — even though the motion had shortened over the years. “It’s distinct, and easy to counter if you can recognise the shape. A language all of its own.”

Moody tipped back his head and laughed, a deep rich sound that seemed to fill the small cottage with a burst of warmth against the evening chill. “Just when I think I couldn’t love you more. It took Scrimgeour four months to put those pieces together.”

Kingsley couldn’t help but laugh along, shaking his head, and carefully going through the motions for the word once again, determined to learn it successfully.


End file.
